


Unmade

by Zigzagwanderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, But Hux is A Badass, Eventual relationship, Hux Wears Short Shorts, Hux's Thigh Holster, Kylo Ren is Handsy, Kylux - Freeform, Lovesick Kylo Ren, M/M, Mainly Lipstick, Makeup, Porn, Smut, The First Order Is Not A Tolerant Place To Work, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zigzagwanderer/pseuds/Zigzagwanderer
Summary: Ren assumed Hux kept him at a distance because he hated him. But Hux has a secret. Ren finds it out. And loves it.Just to say thank you to anyone who reads, comments, etc, it is appreciated!! And I am zigzag-wanderer on Tumblr if you ever want to drop by!!!





	1. Chapter 1

Ren waits, leaning his forearms against the viewport. Like the girders that brace the hull, he holds back an unrelenting emptiness, that gradually, infinitesimally, is crushing him to atoms.

“Well, _my lord_? Why am I summoned?” Hux halts, behind him. 

Ren closes his eyes for a moment, taking his pleasure from the familiar signs of irritation, counterfeiting passion from his General’s taut words and hot, rapid breathing. 

It is how Ren comes, now, transmuting the base squabbles he has with Hux every day into something golden, something he can make himself molten with, late at night.

But the scent of magnolia? _That_ is something new.

It’s gone, almost as soon as it trickles, strong and sweet, down the back of Ren’s throat.

But the fact it’s there at all makes Ren turn around.

It’s _good_ , to see Hux so badly put together. 

In shirtsleeves. Flustered. With boots laced loose.

Ren sneers to himself, uncertainly. If that fleeting fragrance means that Hux just left a lover, unsated, in his bed, then it is clearly nobody who cares enough to make sure Hux is decent for his duties. Nobody of _significance_. 

He pictures how his own hands would be, smoothing down the creases of Hux’s shirt, tucking in the tails of it. 

Easily encircling the slender circumference of that slim waist. 

Tracing his fingertips down lower still, to cup the hardness he has himself created, while Hux moans encouragements into his ear. 

“Are you so bloody _incompetent_ that I am recalled to the bridge having _only_ just left it…” Naturally, from a position of disadvantage and dishevelment, Hux goes on the attack. 

“The entire Osian System plans rebellion,” Ren parries. “Your agents failed, Hux. I alone discovered a weak link in their organisation.”

“Where is this informant now?” Hux pushes his hair back from his face. 

It is a lighter copper, when unvarnished; a touchable, tangible halo that does not make Ren think of virtue _at all_.

“Dead.” Ren shrugs. “Or as good as. I had to take what we needed out of him.”

“Dead? You bloody _fool_...” 

Ren wraps invisible fingers around that delicate, white throat. 

Hux inhales sharply as he is forced to rise up off his bootheels, the long muscles of his legs moving elegantly, like those of a dancer, even in this. 

His eyes and cheekbones _burn_. 

So green. So red. 

Hux is clearly marked as something venomous, yet Ren has grown so used to it, to the prick of it under his skin, that he does not know how he could live without it, now. 

His pulse picks up in the face of Hux’s defiance, and he puts his General down.

“I do not expect gratitude for doing your job,” Ren says, “but I do expect you to act upon this.” 

He pushes the data chip, hard, into Hux’s breast pocket. 

It is too intimate a gesture; Hux blinks at the contact and Ren brings his hand away as if bitten by the heat of that narrow opening, although he immediately wants to curl his fingers inside there again. 

“If you were one of mine,” Hux tells him, quietly. “I would have you flogged.” 

“And if you were mine…” Ren begins, anger and arousal coupling together into courage, when he stops. 

Because he sees it.

A smear of something overlooked, something left behind in haste, on Hux’s lower lip. 

Palest pink. Softest pink. Like a petal, fallen from a flower. 

Ren’s gaze is so unwavering that Hux swiftly lifts his fingers to the lipstick and wipes it away.

“You seem tired of eye, my lord,” he spits out. “Retire to your rest, before you make a mistake that cannot be undone.”

Ren senses the first frisson of fear he has ever felt from General Hux, and it is not as satisfying as he thought it would be.

“Leave the real work of governance to someone more suited to it,” Hux snaps, already straightening his shoulders to support the never-ending burden of command. 

Ren watches him work. Hux is hard as a whiteflint diamond, with a gunmetal heart.

But now, all Ren can see is that shade of sinful pink. 

In all of his dire and dreary world, he had never thought such a colour could possibly exist.


	2. Chapter 2

Auronnont’s West City is a place of alleyways and easy satiation. 

They hunt among whorehouses and taverns, for the Osian traitors to the Order. 

They are covert. Hux is out of uniform. He is dirty and near-naked, like everyone else on the streets, and Ren cannot take his eyes from him. 

His grace and cunning, as he finds their prey’s weaknesses, no matter how deeply buried they might be, is addictive. 

As are Hux’s short, sharp smiles, which he gives to Ren more and more frequently, while they interrogate and execute and stand outside of mercy together, as if walking hand in hand through hell. 

Ren is happier than he’s been for an age. 

But the heat is an enemy, here; beggars are dying from it on every corner.

“Come,” Hux says, with a small, awkward touch to Ren’s back. “Our work is done, and done well. Let us seek some shade.”

Hux’s tank top is soaked in sweat.

Ren wants to take the cloth into his mouth and _suck_.

Their cramped cupboard of a room is above a brothel, and the noises from it thrust upwards, through the floorboards, then cease, as the customer finishes and leaves.

Hux pours some water out and stares at his reflection in the basin. Touches his lips. His cheekbones.

“I would have preferred privacy,” he frowns. His hands clench around nothing, as if restlessly seeking some ritual he needs to perform, in order to remind himself of who he is, beneath the blood and dust. 

Ren wants to soothe him, take away whatever is frustrating him. 

Hold him.

“Is my company so unwelcome?” 

Ren strips off to his underclothing.

Hux just takes a breath and shakes his head, his hair spiking and then falling in rays around his face. 

“Perhaps not as much as it was,” he admits, and starts rinsing off the grime and the gritty spices than seem to encrust every surface of every winding, filthy avenue. 

His nipples pucker through the thin material. Water drips down his arms, following the lean lines of muscle. 

Ren’s body buzzes, like the insects that cluster along the refuse gutters. 

He is growing hard. He wants Hux to notice. To do something about it, at last. 

In all of his life, he has never wanted to fuck anyone so desperately. 

“I sense another conspirator,” he lies. “I think we must remain here tonight.”

There are no more rebels to be found; it is an impure invention. He knows that his abilities will be called into question because of it, but Ren is beyond fearing failure, now, maddened by the smell of Hux, by the lines of his body and the salty, sticky closeness of him. 

“Really?” Hux turns towards him. Ren is stretched out on the only pallet in the place. Hux slides his gaze from one outcropping of bare bone to another; Ren’s ankle, then his knee. His hip, then his shoulder.

“It is strange.” Hux’s voice is rough. “I thought we had tracked down the last of them?”

He picks up a blade and wipes it clean on his short, tattered trousers. Slips it back into his thigh holster and tightens the straps so that they bite into the bare skin, one booted foot raised upon a chair. 

He is not unaware of Ren watching him.

“You doubt me,” Ren says. 

Hux meets his eye. “Perhaps not as much as I did.”

There is a long silence.

Ren and Hux continue to look at one another.

Music starts to play below them. Something slow, and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of some great beast.

Ren gets up and steps over to Hux. He is flushed with want. He puts his hands to Hux’s waist, and delicately adjusts the fastening of the gun-belt Hux is wearing. Tucks the tongue of it in a little more neatly. Pulls the holsters straight.

Hux does not tell him to stop. 

“We can start a new search tomorrow,” Ren decides. “But, for _tonight_ …”

“I have to go out.” Hux tells him, abruptly. 

Ren pauses. 

“Where?” 

Hux opens his mouth, then shuts it and sidesteps away. He picks up a canteen from the washstand.

Examines the fresh bruises and scrapes on his knuckles. 

“It is no concern of yours, my lord,” he tells Ren, quietly.

“No.” Ren recalls that it is not.

After that, there is nothing more to say.

Hux leaves by the creaking, rust-rimmed door. 

And Ren makes himself count to ten, before he pulls on a robe and follows Hux out into the falling darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

It is just as well that Hux disdains the harlots on display, for their sake. Ren is made monstrous by suspicion, and intemperate by insecurity, as he stalks behind Hux through the tents of the bazaar district.

Lanterns. Spice-hawkers. Vermin. Butchery. Every kind of commerce. 

Ren sees none of it, because Hux is entirely _beguiling_ ; somehow boyish, and glowing, as he browses beneath certain of the finer canopies. 

His happiness hurts Ren, who finds himself jealous of every vial and bottle Hux handles, hating these plain little pots, and whatever it is they contain, because Hux looks at them as if they held all the treasure of the world.

Hux buys what he needs to buy without haggling. Yet more sachets and bottles.

It occurs to Ren that they are filled with poison.

It occurs to Ren that they are meant for him. 

While the sand-drenched night-winds scour the city, Hux returns to their dim room above the brothel. 

Ren doesn’t pretend that he doesn’t know.

“I saw you.” He slams Hux into the wall. “Skulking about your disgusting business.”

Hux spins and the longer of his knives is suddenly in his hand, but he only slashes at Ren once, before he is disarmed and pinned down onto the pallet.

He gasps below Ren, sprawled and straining. 

“Why, Hux?” Ren asks. “Such a thing shows…weakness, which is…unbecoming of you.” 

He doesn’t want to slice open Hux’s mind for answers. He wants Hux to have to forge the words himself, to say something so razor-sharp that Ren can use it to cut the yearning out of himself once and for all. 

They are pressed together, panting. 

Even now, Ren wants to grind down. Push his thumb into Hux’s lying mouth and have him suckle on it. Rub their cocks together until they are spent and sobbing. 

There are so many ways Hux could destroy Ren, ways that Hux isn’t even aware of. 

At that moment, with Hux writhing beneath him, but only in search of escape, only in some mocking parody of passion, it seems that poisoning is the least painful one of all. 

Hux looks up at Ren with an odd loathing, as if it is not Ren he hates at all, but some wider dogma that Ren has unwittingly espoused.

“I am not ashamed.” Hux says.

“No. That is clear to me.”

Hux twists his head. His mouth is half open.

Ren does not know what else to do but to kiss him. 

He shuts his eyes and opens his own mouth and without hesitation Hux kisses him back. 

They moan and snarl together then, wrestling to get more friction, kissing to get deeper inside the other, and neither can seem to tell where the fighting ends and the embrace begins.

Hux’s fingers dig into Ren’s arms. Ren scratches his way into Hux’s hair and pulls, satisfied with the animal cry of shocked pleasure that Hux utters in his ear.

Hux chases Ren’s wet mouth again, and bites down on his lip. 

Ren begins to slide his hot, greedy hand along Hux’s thigh. He stiffens from that alone; that silken texture, that muscled pliancy. 

He navigates his fingers past the strapping of Hux’s holster and the constriction of his ragged hem, and fumbles up, rudely, into Hux’s clothing, inching along the crease of Hux’s hip joint to find what he seeks. 

Hux holds still, to let him, his eyes wild and filled with want. 

Ren angles his arm. A flimsy seam gives way, and Ren manages to creep his fingers forward, onto Hux’s half-hard prick. 

Hux makes a low, angry noise of pleasure. 

Ren swallows, sobered by the feel of Hux finally in his grip, damp and sleek and pulsing.

They kiss again, only much more slowly.

Hux wraps one arm sinuously around Ren, and moves his hips.

Clumsily, Ren begins to stroke, hardly knowing what he’s doing, only that nothing else matters; only Hux’s tremulous breath on his face, his skin burning beneath him. 

Ren rubs up and down, wrist constricted by the cloth, jerking and shifting his weight as Hux starts to leak, and pant.

Ren cannot stop. Not with Hux like this, needy and beautifully helpless beneath him, his hand restlessly caressing Ren’s spine, his eyes fluttering closed, stuttering open.

Ren wants to say something, wants to praise and forgive and adore but doesn’t know how.

So, he just _looks_.

And knows that he would kill because of Hux, and knows that he would even die for him.

But not this way, not by his General’s own hand. 

Ren shivers. “I must see for myself, the tools of your dishonour.”

And he crawls off Hux and kicks him down as Hux rises, scrambles, to follow, still dazed with desire and with his narrow chest heaving.

Ren leans forward to seize Hux’s battered satchel.

“I am not ashamed,” Hux repeats. 

Ren rips open the buckles. Empties the contents out onto the floorboards.

“I am not ashamed,” Hux shouts, staggering to his feet and just standing there, in the corner, his bowed shoulders scraped raw and his tank top torn at the neck.

Ren stirs through the clutter of jars and tiny bottles. 

Uncorks one and lifts it to his face.

It is the scent of magnolia. 

Ren raises his face to Hux, trembling there so mutinously.

Another of the perfumes is like musk, like peeled pepperbark in a Taran forest.

There are soaps and rouges, sweet oils for Hux’s hair. For his body. 

The face-powders glimmer demurely, like exospheric particles, or starlight itself, and the creams are smooth, and in shades as rosy as the dawns that come before a yellow sun. 

Ren dips his finger into some rich, red grease. It is a blush, bleeding upon his fingertips. “These are not poison.” 

“Poison?” Hux stares at Ren and laughs, hoarsely. “To my career, to my family’s name, they most certainly are.”

He sits down. 

Ren carefully closes all of the containers and sets the collection of cosmetics to rights. 

From the floor below, someone starts to sing, sadly. 

Rockrats scuttle across the clay plates of the roof. 

Ren breathes out.

“I’m…”

“Don’t.” Hux warns. “Do anything but that, Ren. Report me, and thus ruin me. Kill me for what you will no doubt see as my _perversions_ , but please do not say that you are sorry, either _to_ me or _for_ me. You will find _me_ entirely unapologetic. I am what I am, aside from that which the Order requires me to be.”

Hux’s voice is bitter. 

“I…”

“My…preferences…” Hux continues, “the need to feel… _something_ other than _ugliness_ …this has precluded the building of…anything between us, and that is perhaps one circumstance I do regret.”

Ren recognises that is the truth. 

“And Snoke..?”

“Knows everything. He gouged it out of my head, of course.” Hux runs his fingers through his hair, but it falls forward again, across his eyes. “He has a leash for every one of us, Ren, as you well know. My...deviance…is mine.” 

Ren can imagine Hux shamed by their Leader. Blackmailed and belittled.

His loyalties change. Just like that. Or perhaps they have been turning all this long while. 

“So,” Hux looks resigned. Relieved. _Rebellious._

He is stronger than anyone Ren has ever known. 

“What will you do with me?”

Hux’s mouth is naked, save for where Ren’s attentions have bruised it.

How Ren will survive seeing it painted, he cannot begin to fathom.

He kneels at Hux’s feet.

“First,” Ren says slowly, parting Hux’s legs so that he can rise up between them, where he belongs. “I would bathe you clean.” 

Hux lets himself be kissed, warily, under his jaw, behind his ear. Ren is gentle, even though his blood is on fire and his body lit with longing. 

“And then,” Ren says as calmly as he can, choosing a balm of sheening, golden pink with which to begin. “Although I already find you _glorious_ , let us see how _pretty_ you can be.”


	4. Chapter 4

The flame of the Osian conspiracy is not merely extinguished; Hux turns its quick, bright fervour upon itself, kindling hostility between the idealists and the ambitious until _everything_ is ash. 

The Order is better served by burning dreams, than it is by putting martyrs to the fire.

So it is that Hux’s brilliance pushes the co-commanders apart; Hux must fight in one brutal arena while sending Ren away, to fight in his. 

Ren has ceased to make a secret of his admiration, so when the thing is done, he strides back across the heavens to return to his General. 

He sits himself in Hux’s chair, in Hux’s private quarters, tapping his finger against his thigh. 

Hux enters from the inner room. 

Ren stands up. 

Hux deserves the courtesy; he is lovely, a lily, in his plain white night tunic and soft, scented skin.

Ren cannot get used to it. He never wants to.

“You left the High Command assembly early. And forgot your latest bauble.” Ren places the medal with the others, on a shelf above Hux’s desk. 

“Ah. Yes.” Hux shrugs. 

His mouth is shaded, darker than usual, a hint towards his hunger. 

He has left his lashes untinted. This is a gift for Ren, for the numberless times he has marvelled at those long filaments of gold. 

“Come here.” Ren wants to strip Hux and fuck him right there, on the floor, legs bent up and arms imprisoned above his head. “I have missed you.”

“And I have had an interim dictatorship to install,” Hux murmurs, bare feet stepping up to Ren’s boots. “Punishments to mete out. I have had no time to think of _you_ , my lord.”

Yet he kisses Ren as if they will never kiss again.

Ren leads Hux to the small, dim bedroom.

Ren plays with Hux’s loose, glowing hair. 

Hux undresses Ren, and his mouth leaves lipstick marks across Ren’s skin; deep as bloodstains, or whispering as scarlet blossoms, whichever he prefers.

Red, red kisses, hot and whorish, on Ren’s nipples. On his belly and hips.

Obscene benedictions that Hux smears, open-mouthed and spit-wet, over the head of Ren’s cock and down his length.

Ren has exhausted his meagre supply of prayers and imprecations by the time Hux lets Ren hold his face and force his prick down the funnel of Hux’s throat. 

It is too good. 

“Wait, I will have you.” Ren shakes his head to clear it and pulls Hux up into his lap. “I’ve done nothing but think of you. I’ve done nothing but think of this.” He sucks his own brands into the whiteness of Hux’s neck. 

“Tell me.” Hux says, sitting astride Ren, starting to move.

“You are beautiful. Fierce and beautiful and mine.”

Hux makes low, breathy sounds. 

Ren runs his hands under the concealing skirts of the robe. 

He strokes the warm, hidden hollows and rounds; Hux is naked beneath and already dripping; they do not touch themselves when apart, and Hux is sensitive, and bites down on his smudged and swollen lip. 

That Ren cannot see what he wants to see is a torture, but a transcendent one; his hands become his eyes, his memory surrenders its own intimate map of Hux, from the few times they have stolen before. 

“They will promote me, for this work we have done.” Hux arches his back. “Will you stay at my side?” 

Ren pauses. Nods. “I will go where you go.”

The need to protect and the need to conquer are entwined into a complex, entangling lust in Ren’s mind, yet there is harmony in the push and pull of it, both peace and excitement.

There may even be a different name for such a feeling, for all Ren knows. 

Hux is ready for him. Ren lowers Hux onto his cock and is enveloped. Hux remains dressed, his entire body obscured by the most innocent of silk, while his face is filthy with desire and ruined make-up.

“Your hole, Hux. So sweet and tight for me.” 

“Yes.” Hux rises, lithe and strong. 

Ren eases Hux down, again and again. Gently thrusts up. Until gentleness is no longer enough for either of them.

“Please come.” Ren ruts hard, and fast, sooner than he would have liked. “Please. You’re so lovely. I cannot stand it.”

“Yes.” Hux’s eyes half-close, leaf-green and black.

And he does.

He comes because Ren wants him to. 

He is at risk, lately, of giving Ren _anything_ he petitions for.

And he wonders what will happen, when Ren asks him for the First Order itself. 

Ren waits, back turned to the viewport. 

It is a wider portal, here, on Hux’s new command vessel.

If he looks, he will see, not emptiness, but a galaxy, ripe, and waiting for them; a fulfilment that merely has yet to occur.

Hux halts, in front of Ren. 

He is icy, controlled; the reverse of how Ren rendered him, earlier on, in their bed, in their chamber. 

The scent of magnolia is faint but familiar, a dark signature of authority, writ upon the sterile air. 

Ren bows briefly.

“Grand Marshall.”

“My Lord Ren.”

They survey their elite crew.

Hux is worshipped by them, immaculate in his pristine boots and his uniform black.

Ren closes his eyes.

He can sense it; how Hux is revered, for his power and his discipline.

And how he is _coveted_ , for his proud, pink-pearled, and lightly lustred mouth.


End file.
